


This Empire of Dirt

by mrasaki



Series: Halloween 2015 [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Not horror/scary, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sort of a PWP, Zombies, not an au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 15:02:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5009236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrasaki/pseuds/mrasaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the end of another day. </p>
<p>Two hundred thirty-six of them, to be exact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Empire of Dirt

**Author's Note:**

> Because Star Trek will always be one of my lasting fandom loves nor will I ever be done writing zombie AUs, apparently. I'm not 100% satisfied with this story, but completely unplanned fic bunnies happen more and more rarely lately, so I'll let it stand.
> 
> Happy Halloween!

Jim was awakened by the hum of the light over his desk. It flickered an anemic yellow as he stared at it, wondering if it would do any good to get up and bang his fist into it or ignore it and try to sleep again. Sleep was a scarce commodity lately. His uncle who'd been in the Marines and survived the Eugenic Wars, had always told him, _you sleep when you can, where you can._ Jim wasn’t exactly in a warzone – not in the traditional sense, at any rate – and his father’s brother had been full of shit most of the time, but he was right enough about that. 

Hum.

Blink.

Blink.

Having light was good, too. Power was scarce, the generator having only so much fuel. The light kept the dark and the infected at bay, and that consideration was the only thing keeping Jim from going over and pounding the fixture into submission. His room was heavily barricaded, windowless. If they got through, the feeble light might be enough to give him the smallest chance of getting away.

The door clattered in its frame then, heavy blows thudding against the heavy metal. Jim was off his bunk in an instant, groping the heavy pipe out from under his pillow and holding it ready. The phasers had been depleted early on and they were down to cruder melee weapons. He’d wrapped friction tape around one end of the pipe to make a handle and sharpened the other. It was named Big Petunia.

The thuds stopped for a second. The door will hold, Jim told himself. But if they’d penetrated this far into the compound, then – Jim shook the thought away, refused to entertain it for even a moment. More bangs. Bones was likely still in the infirmary, he told himself. It was more heavily fortified, therefore safer, than the rest of the compound.

By all the laws of justice in the universe, this mission was supposed to have been a cinch, playing medical supply transport when a cargo ship broke down and the Enterprise was the only ship headed in that direction. Now there wasn't a single moment where Jim didn't bitterly regret complaining about boring milk runs. Half the away team dead or worse than dead, and he didn't know the status of the crew who'd been left behind on the Enterprise. Now they counted the days by how many rations and water purification tablets they had left. 

“Jim?” An irritated voice, accompanied by a louder thud – must’ve kicked the door -- and Jim slumped against the bed in relief. “Jim!”

Jim ran a shaking hand over his forehead, feeling the cold sweat that’d collected there. He slid Big Bertha back under the pillow. “Bones, how many times’ve I told you to use the secret knock?”

He said it lightly, as lightly as the two hundred thirty-six other times he’d said it, and Bones responded exactly the same way he’d responded all two hundred thirty-six times before. “This isn’t grade school. You gonna let me in?”

It was the end of another day. 

Two hundred thirty-six of them, to be exact.

++

“Really?” Bones cocked his head when Jim got the door open. He was fresh off his shift in what passed for the infirmary, his brown hair freshly washed, clothes rumpled but relatively clean, exhaustion permanently etched into his face. “Of all the ways you could’ve dealt with this, it was this?” He gestured at the room.

“You never gave me points for originality,” Jim said, standing aside so he could come in. Bottles were scattered around him like dead leaves, glass and metal husks rolling around with each movement of his feet and clacking against each other. Making bathtub hooch had become something of a cottage industry among the survivors as they ran out of potable water, and honestly, lately there was little else for entertainment between watches besides cards and drinking.

“Drinking alone in your room is a new low, even for you.”

Jim’s grin was like a death rictus. “We lost seven today, Bones.” That was all he needed to say. Bones knew how the rest went, because it was the same every time: Seven who could've gone home to their families, if I'd been a better leader like they trusted me to be. He knew more would've died if he hadn't made that calculated risk to go outside just long enough to scrounge food and supplies from the nearby town, but Jim had never been okay with losing even one person even before they'd been stranded on this hell planet. Sometimes it was hard to convince the heart of what the head knew. 

“Jim.” Bones swallowed. “Jim, you can’t think of it like— You can’t think like that.” He reached out, covered Jim's shoulder with a calloused hand, gave it a comforting squeeze. 

Jim scrubbed a grimy fist across his eyes. “Yeah, I know.” A ghost of his former grin ghosted across his face. “Let an old man enjoy what peace of mind he can, right?”

“You're six years younger than me, you're not allowed to use 'old,'” Bones grunted and the same heavy hand slid up Jim's shoulder to bury the fingertips into the hair behind Jim's ear, cupping his cheek.

Jim closed his eyes and turned his face into Bones's palm.

He hadn't believed in hiding, hadn't believed in just existing until the undead finally got them. But that'd been then, in the beginning of this long, surreal nightmare. Back when they'd still had hope of rescue or a cure. Back before the Enterprise had gone silent, visible on the horizon at dawn and dusk as a low-flying orbiting satellite but otherwise as remote and unreachable as the stars. 

“Living is great and all, but I’m not goddamn going to rush into being a zombie,” Bones had pointed out sourly. This had been one of the arguments they'd always had, constant and well-worn like an old blanket. “Quit being such a cowboy, your hero-ing around is going to give me a goddamn heart attack.”

“Always save the last bullet for yourself, like they used to say,” Jim had replied, voice muffled by his improvised mask as he pinned a squirming undead beneath his boot and brought down the blade. _Thuck_. The head rolled away down the slope into the weeds, the body spasming in slow, swimming crab-like movements before it finally stilled. Bones glanced at him sharply, caught by the the flat statement. Jim had always been almost too determinedly cheerful about the dire predicaments they'd found themselves in, much less this one, like he'd been expecting to die in one way or another since before he joined Starfleet. Knowing where every single one of Jim's faultlines lay didn't mean Bones had to like it, though. 

“See here.” Jim pointed at the hinge of his jaw with a finger grimed with gore. “You take a sharp knife, and stick it in here. Pull it really fast this way – “ he drew the finger across his throat to the other side. “—No pain. You want a clean, quick death. Knowing when to do it, deciding that there’s no way out, that’s the easy part. Living, _really_ living until you get there, that's harder.”

He'd smiled into Bones’s shocked face even as he continued in that remote, terrible voice. “If you accept that you’re going to die, it makes things easier. My point is, you can hide in your shelter like a frightened rabbit for twenty years, or you can die sooner, knowing that at least you did more than just exist.”

“That’s insane,” Bones had whispered. “Total fucking crazy talk.”

“Pragmatic, maybe.” Jim had shrugged and switched subjects then, as facile as a fish. 

It was only grimly funny now; Bones spent long hours in his infirmary cum improvised laboratory so very sure that the next moment would yield a cure, while Jim spent his days keeping the remnants of his crew alive and more or less sane for another day. They didn't talk anymore about where they saw themselves in ten years, or even ten days, or how those days would be spent, but the cynical bastard still had _hope_. All Jim had was Bones.

Jim knew Bones could taste the sour mash of the alcohol on his tongue, but he had ceased to care about that ages ago. All he cared for was the rasp of Bones' stubble against his lips, the callused hands as they skimmed up his neck to bury themselves in his hair and tugged. The warmth that Jim could feel through both their clothes pressed up against him, hard and hot and familiar as home. Only in Bones's arms could he let himself relax even a little bit, drop even a little of that bluff cheer that felt more and more like a facade with every passing day – with every additional person they lost to the undead, with every hail of the Enterprise that went unanswered. 

Jim let himself be pressed back into his bunk, let Bones divest him of their clothes. Let Bones drape that rangy frame over him and press open-mouthed kisses against his collarbone and down his chest and stomach. He moaned, hands going to bury into Bones's hair, legs parting as if with their own volition as Bones nosed down the side of Jim's aching cock, scenting him. As he stared down in fascination, Bones flicked a dark glance up at him then as if making sure Jim was still paying attention, then sucked him down in one swoop. 

The suction was almost too rough to be pleasurable, pain skirting the edge of ecstasy, almost more punishment than reward. It wasn't anywhere near perfect but it was what Jim needed, craved. Skillful fingers massaged around the base then dipped lower, cupping him and squeezing in time with every bob of his head before sinking impossibly lower. The tip of Jim's cock nudged the back of Bones's grasping throat, and then Jim was gone. 

He came so hard his toes curled, riding cresting waves of pleasure. Bones worked him through it, tongue rasping against the underside of his cock as he swallowed every drop.

When Jim came spinning back from the high of orgasm, he realized Bones was tucking himself in around him. “Don't worry about it,” Bones rumbled into Jim's ear when Jim reached down, because hell if he wasn't going to return the favor. When Jim didn't desist, a kiss, rough and whiskery, pressed against his temple. “I've got you. Go to sleep, kid.”

Jim thought about arguing. But Bones was warm and alive against him, each breath in and out steady, his weight reassuring. He would never feel completely safe again, even if they made it off this planet, but this was good enough for now, and soon he was asleep.


End file.
